Calasier Avamela Prologue
by Leonette
Summary: Before Draco came, Hari was a cold killer. Before he met Hari, Noalith was a prisoner. Before he met a princess, Verimir was a renegade. Read Calasier Avamela before reading this. Elf! Harry
1. The Letters

A/N: Finally! My Internet's been down, I've had writer's block but I still got this up! Even though this says 'Calasier Avamela Prologue', you still have to read Calasier Avamela to get this. This is basically to give you some background on the characters. Now, we get a view of what Hari was like before Draco came along to Valivial.

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_**Calasier Avamela Prologue**_

_**Hari - Chapter 1: The Letters**_

The door closed with a satisfying snap. By running a hand through his hair, he easily smoothed back the once dreadfully untidy hair. This was how Hari liked it best. He had been given an image of Harry Potter by his parents and he had to act it out, however unwillingly. He hated the untidy hair, the unshapely clothes and needless glasses on his nose. It was bad enough that he had to spend acting like a nervous idiot without having to do it all day, _How Athara could contend with it!_

With a scoff, he pulled them off and threw off the second-hand robe, _They would have me play a beggar to satisfy this illusion! _Tearing off the Suppression Rosary, he gave a sigh of relief as he became an elf again. Locking the door of the Room of Requirement (though there was no real need to), he slumped onto a sofa. The Room had done a marvelous job at mimicking his chamber in the palace and made him more comfortable. At last, there was a fragment of his home world in the mortal one. He would remain with the little fools but he would not content to sleep in the same room.

Just as he was about to relax, he spotted something. A letter sat on the table, rolled up and sealed with red wax, _Athara._ He broke the seal and unfurled it, _What new demand does she bring?_

_To my dear son, Prince Hari, from the Queen of Valivial, greetings,_

_It has come to my attention that Quirrel is making his move. I must again urge you to do something about it. In past letters, you have made excuses that this is not your world. I do not expect such selfishness from my own son. As your mother and your queen, I order you to stop Quirrel before he reaches the Philosopher's Stone. Your friends' lives are at stake and I do not want to see this level of selfishness from you again._

Hari sighed again. He had known for a long time that Quirrel was a villain. He had asked Noalith to come to Hogwarts specially and had told his parents that he managed to sense Voldemort there, _He always struck me as the fool. A stuttering, witless thing who recoils at the sight of a worm. Dumbledore must be the greater fool, though, if he was fooled by him and allowed him to stay._

No matter how he acted to others, he disliked Albus Dumbledore. He thought him a soft old fool who would let a snake live even if it gave him a fatal bite, _Does he know nothing of honour and of vengeance? He has none of a warrior's pride and they look up to him like he is their saviour. If he were a soldier of the Akhohr, I would have sent him to been retired long ago to tend a farm! Warriors who cannot fight are no use to me._

He reached into his trunk and pulled out his sword, _I'll bet that he does not even possess one. Imagine! _He held it up to the light of the bowl of fire lit above him, "_Ah, Bellime. You must find these days as tedious as I. In Valivial, you were the treasure of the kingdom, as much of an honourable presence as your master. People would bow to you were you human, worship you in floods were you a deity. Now, you are an object. What a way you have fallen. What a way I have fallen._"

He was bored, he had to admit. He longed for battle and glory. He longed for the beauty of the Elven world. He longed for people giving him the proper respect. The stone of Hogwarts was dull, the corridors dingy, the mortals undignified. His mother had talked at length of how she loved Hogwarts yet Hari could draw no love of the place. The resistance of temptation he faced every day made things no better. Why of all places did he have to fall for the poison of love again here?

_No, think not on it. _He drew a scroll towards him, dipped a quill in his ink and began to write:

_To the slave of Voldemort, Quirrel,_

_I know your secret. You will be exposed. To know your identity before your doom, meet me in the forests outside Hogwarts after nightfall of the fifth day._

It was short but so would be his plan. It would end quickly. He liked to end things quickly. He simply did not act because he did not feel obliged to defend this dull place with no fight in it. His plan would work. The order to come outside the safety of Dumbledore's eye would be obeyed. It was written on specially enchanted paper and those it was addressed to had to obey it.

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When he left the Room of Requirement the next day, he put on the Harry Potter facade, laughed and made idle chatter with the other Gryffindors. His eyes never met them though. One eye, as always, was on the beauty across the hall. The other was on Quirrel as he opened his green-wax-sealed letter. His face went pale and his eyes widened. He was quivering to his silly concealing turban. Hari smiled while Harry pointed him out to Ron,

"What's up with Quirrel?"

"Dunno." Ron glanced over, "Hey," He dropped his voice, "d'you reckon Snape's sent a threat to him?"

"Yeah. I bet he did." Harry nodded. Hari had allowed them to labour under this illusion to greater lead them away from the truth. It did not do to have too many followers in the act he would commit. He would have to conceal his plans from Dumbledore, his parents and the wizarding world. He knew what an attitude they took to what he saw was the only course of action necessary for the traitor.

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On the night of the meeting, Hari did not take off the Suppression Rosary but smoothed back his hair, left his glasses on a table and pulled on some specially down-sized Elven clothes he had requested. He felt wonderfully refreshed, like he had just washed off the sullies of the world from his skin. The rich clothes were welcome after the primitive cotton of Harry's clothes.

Bellime was drawn, the window was opened and the ghostly figure leapt from it. Elves' bodies were not so fragile and even with a Suppression Rosary, he managed to land without injury. They were their toughest after the Elf reached one thousand years old and, since Hari had long passed that moment, he straightened up without a care and strode across the grounds. His high boots made no sound against the ground. The velvet made no rustle as he swung his arms a little.

Hari was skilled in the art of secrecy. He stole across the ground with the light-footed grace only an elf could manage. The forest boded no threat to him. He, a great warrior could overcome any of the creatures there. He knew; he had been in there more than once. Centaurs and Acromantulas were fearsome to humans but his skill with a sword meant that he could get by them.

Therefore, he took the route through the forest. This time, he was not looking for a quarrel with the animals there. He took secret paths, therefore. He wondered whether Hagrid knew them or no. Nevertheless, he left no trail and any marks he left on the ground were too small for him to see anyway. The trees cast dark shadows but he was never frightened of the dark. The dark held no threat to a keen Elf's eye.

He reached the wall which separated Hogwarts from the outside world. With a deft leap, he cleared the wall easily. Humans could never manage it but, then again, he was never human. Striding along the borders, he spotted Quirrel ahead. He was easy to spot with that turban. But, he was no longer quivering, _This is his true apparel._ Keeping in the shadows, Hari called out to him,

"You have come, Quirrel."

The man jumped and looked around wildly, putting on the silly little stutter, "W-who's there?"

"Oh, do stop it, Quirrel. This is me you speak to. I know your stutter is an act, as are other aspects of yourself." He readied Bellime. A voice came from the turban. One he knew to Voldemort,

"Step forward, boy. Let me see your face."

Hari stepped forward with no quiver. He had faced more fearsome foes than this. His scar was covered and he was sure Quirrel would not recognise him,

"You have been a deceived slave, Quirrel," Hari raised Bellime a little, "but I have no mercy for those who serve my enemies." Another step and he was within range. He took it and Bellime became simply a silvery blur. The turban unfurled in a purple ribbon from the severed head of Quirrel. Something smoky emerged from it and a face appeared within it. Voldemort glared at him mutinously,

"I recognise you, Harry Potter." He snarled, "You wear the same clothes as your father did that night he and your mother defeated me. What lies you spin around this world! You make yourself another face in the eyes of your fellows and hide a bloodthirsty nature beneath it. What they would say if they knew their so-called Boy-Who-Lived was a fraud and a murderer?"

"They will not know." Hari answered calmly, "Who would believe your word over mine?"

With a final growl, the smoke vanished in a greyish streak, leaving Hari standing over the headless Quirrel.

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A/N: Very short, yes. But you do get the point quickly!


	2. The Chamber

A/N: Okay, I've decided that I'll only continue a story if I get a review. Not because I'm after popularity but because my workload's rising at the moment and I can't afford to have too much on the go.

**evildictionaryninja: **Thanks for staying with me. It's not always going to be centre on Hari, though. This'll actually be the last Hari chapter in my Calasier Avamela Prologue. Next, I'm moving on to Noalith.

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_**Calasier Avamela Prologue**_

_**Hari - Chapter 2: The Chamber**_

Hari irritably dusted himself off. His royal clothes were practically ruined now. He felt like spitting but knew it was not appropriate. It would just make things worse. Another flump told him that Maltandir had landed beside him. His sweeping robes, so inappropriate for a Nimohtar, were surely tarnished beyond repair from the slide before, _Why such a ridiculous alias? Gilderoy Lockhart, the great fraud! This world will be reeling for months when they know what Maltandir has done in this persona! Even more so if they know his true identity!_

Hari had not needed so much persuasion to act in the name of safety at Hogwarts. As soon as he heard of the Weasley girl's kidnap, the horrible thought had occured that this heir of Slytherin had turned his eyes upon purebloods and thus, the Slytherin beauty was in danger. Maltandir had caught him getting the story of the pathetic sobbing spectre of how she died by the monster. Bellime was at his belt, his glasses were left behind, his hair smoothed back and his rich elven clothes, now soiled, were worn with pride.

He would not save the Weasley girl, though. He would not rescue one of the wicked female race. He would not give them the satisfaction. As though reading his thoughts, Maltandir said, in clear Elvish, "_You must not be rough with the girl. It is not her fault that she was captured._"

"_You did not have to accompany me, Maltandir._" Hari retorted, eyeing the silly, impractical robes he wore now covered with slime,

"_Ah, I think this would be a good way to let Gilderoy die._" Maltandir sighed, "_It is very dreary being such a silly persona._" _I agree to that,_ thought Hari. Instead, he said aloud,

"_So, your alias shall die as he lived: in a brainless attempt at glory. How befitting._"

Maltandir said nothing to this but followed Hari's conjured light down the passageway. Hari made no sign of terror at the sight of the beast's shed skin. Anyone who had willing strode into a Warg hive or boarded a Drow warlord's ship of his own free will could easily accomplish this. He also gave no sign of wonder at the snakes carved into the wall. He simply spoke in serpent tongue to it and it opened. The reason he could speak serpent tongue was because the language of beasts was a common practise in Valivial. He was not exactly fluent in serpent tongue as many thought Harry was but all he needed was the basics to enter the Chamber.

Without having to be told, Maltandir stayed outside, though his face told him how concerned he was. This did not bother him. He ignored people worrying for his welfare. He strode smoothly down the Chamber, his eyes, though still those of a human's, flicked side to side with enhanced vision, detecting any movement, _There is someone behind the pillar at the far end. Yet, it seems not all there._ Pretending he hadn't noticed, he headed straight to the girl at the feet of the great statue, _Slytherin, no doubt. Perhaps within that statue is where the Basilisk lies. Why else would such an unnecessary thing be here? Slytherin is not such a vain fool to have his own craven image in a place no one will see it._

He reached the statue, took one look up at the statue's face and glanced over his shoulder, "So? You are Slytherin's heir, Tom Marvolo Riddle?"

The teenage boy moved out into the dim light, with a look of concealed surprise, "You know me?"

"I had a look through the genealogy of Slytherin. I'm glad of you taking so long to act. That gave me enough time to research the family tree down to you, Dark Lord Voldemort." He sighed and couldn't help but smirk, "They are fools to run around like headless fowl when all they had to do was look through the archieves and work their way down to you. The Heir of Slytherin is a much too obvious clue. You ought to be more careful."

Riddle raised an eyebrow, "And, who might you be? I have not seen you around the school."

"I can give you only my assumed name." Hari pushed back his fringe, "Harry Potter."

Riddle's eyes widened, "You cannot be! I have seen you-"

"When you were possessing this girl?" Hari gestured at the girl, "Yes, I know about that, Riddle." He nodded at Riddle's increasingly astonished expression, "You see, I knew it ever since Lucius Malfoy slipped it into her cauldron at Diagon Alley. He shall be dealt with in due course. Mortals would not have noticed but I have heightened perceptions. I saw it there and senses your presence, though I knew not who you were at the time."

"So," Riddle said, slowly, "you knew all this time...yet you never acted."

"I did not act, yes, because I do not care for this school as much as I appear to. If I act, it is for personal reasons. Still, I was waiting for the right time and place to settle you." Bellime was raised, ready to strike. But, Riddle still had more to say,

"But, you cannot know how I am here!"

"It was an educated guess." Hari shrugged, "When you were young, you somehow managed to implant some of yourself into the book there," He gestured carelessly at the diary in the girl's arms, "and have been living off the girl's lifeforce ever since. Correct?"

He took the stunned silence as a yes. Now, Riddle was beginning to pull himself together, "Impressive, Potter. Very impressive. But, three things puzzle me still."

"I see no reason to answer questions of one who will soon die but say on."

"First," Riddle's dark eyes roamed Hari's rich clothes (cleaned with a previous spell in the tunnel), the shining sword, the sleek hair and the unblemished, impassive face, "you have not taken a wand with you. You seem to think a sword is sufficient against the great Basilisk of Slytherin, which I suppose you know about as well." He added, with the slightest hint of bitterness, _He must have been relying on my ignorance,_

"A mortal's arrogance," Hari answered, "is to rely on one strength alone. Most of all with wizards. They have this ridiculous notion that a wand is all-powerful and can save them from anything. I, on the other hand, know such skills as to not need an exterior tool. Second?"  
Riddle pulled a face at this reply but cleared his through and went on, "Secondly, you talk very calmly to me when I am sure you know that little Ginny's life hangs by a thread. You do not even look at her. Am I correct in saying that you did not come down here to rescue her?"

"Very good, Riddle." Hari nodded, suffering a glance at the girl, "She was a fool to be taken in by you and is guilty of these crimes on all counts. Even if she lives your hold, she will be left to starve here. I have neither time nor will to rescue the damsel-in-distress or for damsels in general. Like I said, personal reasons."

Riddle raised an eyebrow, seemingly intregued by him now, "You surprise me, Harry Potter. You masquerade as an innocent child with such flawless acting, seemingly without effort, and this is what you are inside!"

"Your third question?" Hari had no patience for grovelling,

"Yes, thirdly, you speak of us as mortal like you are not human yourself."

"Yes." Hari nodded, "Surely, a thing of your intelligence will realise that I am not human. I do not deny it. But, again, you don't need to know who I am since you will die here."

Riddle pulled a face, "We'll see about that, shall we?" He stared up into the statue's face, making Hari confirm what he was about to do. He spoke a summoning in serpent tongue and the Basilisk emerged. Hari smiled, facing it without fear, eyes wide open. The Basilisk hit the stone floor and reared its head. Hari held no terror for the thing. He kept one amused eye on Riddle as Hari continued to glare at the beast right in the eye, who grew rapidly frightened. Finally, he gave a distressed cry of, "_Why aren't you dead?_"

"I have already told you." Hari raised Bellime, "I am not human, not of this world. Nothing here holds a true threat to me." With that, he leapt elegantly into the air and Bellime became a blur. He reached the ground after the heavy severed Basilisk head and more gracefully. Raising his head, he saw Riddle shaking like a leaf before the pillar, "Now, for you." He crossed to the girl and opened the diary. Riddle trembled even more but Hari did not spare a glance. He placed a hand between the pages and chanted a spell.

After a moment, a maddened laugh filled the room, "_Y-you fool! You just gave me some of your life! You have brought back Lord Voldemort!_" Riddle laughed estatically, not seeing the raised Bellime. The laugh was abruptly cut off when the sword went straight into Riddle's stomach,

"You are the fool, Riddle." Hari stated, matter-of-factly, holding Bellime still, "Do you not know that, if you are alive, you can be killed?"

The widened black eyes stared straight at the falsely young face, "Dumbledore is more cunning than I thought. He countered the Dark Lord with something more merciless and deadly. I am not the wicked one here." With another flash, Bellime cleaved him from gut to crown. Then, it was put back in its sheath. Hari strode away from the body, separated from the girl by the Basilisk's body. The diary's ink-blood dripped on the floor, destroyed.

As Hari stepped out of the Chamber, a voice from the shadows spoke, "_You will leave the poor girl to starve?_"

"_If you want to rescue her, Maltandir, then do so. But your conscience cannot affect mine._"

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A/N: Ooh, you can see why they call him Calasier Avamela now, don't you?


	3. The Warlord

A/N: Here we go, then. I would have posted this yesterday but the Internet gave up on me. This is a lot of original stuff but I might include Hari near the end of the Noalith part. This actually isn't from Noalith's point of view but it's a bit of background on his birth.

**evildictionaryninja: **Ah, my ever-constant reviewer. I hope you're not getting lonely on this 'cos you're my only reviewer at the minute!

Please review. I'm feeling a bit lonely.

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_**Calasier Avamela Prologue**_

_**Noalith - Chapter 1: The Warlord**_

"_General, I demand to see my son!_"

The small, white-haired Drow was dwarfed by the taller generals that barred the door. The smaller's hair was the longer, the plait coming down to his knees and a long strand hanging down his face. Though the generals were the larger, the smaller was dressed more richly with a golden dragon headdress and more polished armour. The sword was broad and heavy, clashing with his small, frail form, but it remained on his back. The others had their swords in their hands, barring his way,

"_You cannot._" said one, who bore a snake upon his hauberk and had his long hair pulled roughly back, "_Half-Drows are not worthy of our army._"

"_Of __**my**__ army, they are!_" argued the smaller, "_I lead this army! I'm the Warlord of the Rhunyle Sea and you follow my orders!_"

"_Oh, don't let's start that again._" drawled the other general, who had all his hair tucked into his helmet. He had an eagle carved upon his armour, "_You told us you did not want to go to war so, if you are not going to war, you cannot be a Warlord._"

"_I was named Warlord by my father!_"

"_A name is only a name._" The long, thin sword of the snake general raised a little, "_If you cannot live up to it, we won't follow you._"

"_How can we follow a Warlord who has not even killed an opponent?_" jeered the eagle general. The chain between his two short swords clinked as they raised,

"_Killing is wrong!_" argued the Warlord, "_I don't want to take lives, even if it's my mortal enemy! So, please, do not throw my child to the Finned Crocodiles!_" Tears were pouring down his face and dripping on his armour, "_Everyone deserves to live. You cannot take it back if they die. To cut them off before they have begun is just...just horrible!_"

"_If you think that it's awful,_" jeered the eagle general, "_then kill us. Your father would never stand for insubordination. You remember Betra? She was torn limb from limb by us on his orders for disagreeing with him. Oh, yes, you liked her, didn't you?_" He added, maliciously, as the Warlord's eyes widened at the mention of the name,

"_You should not even be in this posistion._" added the snake general, "_Were it not for your honourable brother dying in battle, you would still be in your cabin, playing with your hair and not holding us all back with your sickening sentimentality._"

"_Remember our deal? You let us handle the army and we won't put any pressure on you to go into battle. Our duties include what to do with your children._"

"_Don't kill him!_" the Warlord was crying in earnest now. Still, the sword on his back would not budge, "_Please, don't kill him. Take my title. Banish me. Only give me my child!_"

The generals both scoffed at the sight, "_Your honourable father never liked you. You don't have a bone in your body. Perhaps you would be better without your title and we'd send you out to sea to tend a farm._"

"_You're an insult to your family. We are the more fit to lead this army but we cannot kill you or else insult your father's name. Go and play with your hair. I think I see a split end. _"

"_My son._" The Warlord seemed not to have heard them, "_Please, my son._"

"_Perhaps we weren't making ourselves clear._" The snake general grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and almost lifted him off his feet, "_Unless you find it in your feminine heart to cut us down now, then your son will be meat to the crocodiles just like your latest precious Nienna._" With whimpering sobs, looking as though it cost him everything he held dear, the Warlord raised an arm,

"_Whoa, there. That sword looks far too heavy for your weak little body, anyway._" added the eagle general with a sneer, "_You would not even be able to lift it, let alone make a scratch on us._"

"_So, it looks like your __**dear**__ son dies._"

The Warlord fell to the floor and, before he could recover himself, the door had closed. With a wail, he frantically beat his fists against it, "_Don't kill him! Please don't kill him!_" His sobs echoed down the corridor. The snake general scoffed,

"_Disgusting._" He snarled to the other, as they retreated from the room, "_To think that he is the child of the great Marwesl._"

"_I would have thrown him to the crocodiles a long time ago would he had been my son, wouldn't you, Nestriv?_"  
"_So I would, Renewl._" nodded Nestriv, "_It's Drow like that vermin that pollute the family blood._"

"_Speaking of polluted,_" Renewl added, "_where's that half-Elf brat?_"

"_Left him on deck._" shrugged Nestriv, without any feeling, "_No point worrying about him catching cold. He'll be dead soon anyway._"

They strode out onto the deck of the huge wooden hulk, rising only about fifty feet from the water but the bottom was twice as deep below. Such was a hulk that housed a whole Drow army. Nestriv used his left hand to push open the door since what was left of his right hand was a stump of a wrist. Such was the tradition of the Drow Warlord family they served. Each Warlord family would cut off something from their recruits as their trademark. In this family, it was their right hand. The theory behind it was so a sword could never be raised against them by one of their own. But, of course, to fight for them, they had to learn to handle sword with their left hands. This tradition was the very reason why their symbol was a right hand.

But, the current Warlord had refused point-blank to carry this out. So, Nestriv and Renewl had done this, in honour of the previous Warlord they had so adored. In fact, they had completely dominated the current Warlord. He was a weak-hearted, sentimental Drow who, to their knowledge, had never wielded a sword before. They had often wondered whether the sword he carried was made of mirrors, that could be shattered instantly. For, it had never been drawn. Even if he had got close, they would trample the attempt. He had made the mistake of confiding in them how little he wanted to take up the title of Warlord and they had taken this opportunity in both hands. As a result of this, they kept the Warlord in his cabin practically at all times and commanded the army between them. The two generals were greedy and mimicked the previous Warlord's attitude down to the minutest detail.

They crossed the silent deck. Drows were more active at night so, in the daytime, they would be normally getting some sleep before the hard work of the night. There was the faint sound of whimpering within one of the barrels. Nestriv roughly pulled off the lid and reached within. As soon as the light-skinned child saw him, it began crying noisily. The noise made them glare around self-consciously. They had always concealed the Warlord's attempts to have a family by killing the Elf (he never fell in love with Drows, much to their annoyance) and any result of their affair they found. The Warlord was getting increasingly better at concealing these, though. This time, the babe had been fourteen-months-old before it had been discovered. Nestriv scowled,

"_What's the matter with it? It wasn't making much of a noise before._"

"_Probably your face._" Renewl sneered, then became serious, "_You do not think that...perhaps..._?"

"_Not the Rinatula!_" gasped Nestriv, dropping the child and making it scream even louder,

"_Yes, the Rinatula._" nodded Renewl, "_Perhaps we should keep this one,_" The two of them did not always kill the half-Elf children they found. If an innate gift could be found, then they kept it below in the lowest part of the hulk in a cell without the Warlord's knowledge, "_and if it turns out that he hasn't, well. We know what to do._"

So, they took the child down below deck, down the wooden staircases, swathing it in a sea cloak to attempt to stifle the screams. Feeling that it would honour the previous Warlord, they kept the ineffectual Warlord a secret from everyone. They kept him in his cabin and told everyone lies about how merciless and cruel he was. It would not do to allow the army to see their true leader.

Finally, they reached the bottom deck where the bloated 'nurse' was sitting with her feet up on the table and smoking a pipe. About twenty little half-Drows lay in the cells beyond and all were in her 'care'. They were not so neglected that they died; they were their secret weapons after all but they were not treated like princes. As Renewl said once, "_They are treated exactly how they should be; valuable vermin._"

When the 'nurse' saw them coming, she stood up, carelessly tossing the pipe aside, "_What is it this time, generals?_"

"_A babe with the Rinatula. Here._" Renewl's voice adopted an oily tone he only used with her, "_Our Honourable Warlord demands that it should not be thrown to the crocodiles because of this gift. He commands that we leave it in your care._"

"_The Rinatula?_" The 'nurse' raised a thin eyebrow, "_That's the first one I've had._ _Are you sure?_"

"_Our Honourable Warlord believes so. And, if not, he demands it to be thrown to the crocodiles where the rest of his bastard vermin lie._"

"_Third brat this month. What was it that he raped this time? A Wood Elf?_" To keep their image of a cruel Warlord solid, they made these children sound like the result of brutal sexual assaults,

"_I know not._" Nestriv shrugged, "_We did not have time to find out since our Honourable Warlord threw her to the crocodiles so quickly._" The truth was that it was a Wood Elf but they couldn't be too knowledgeable of the 'victims', "_And, with so much going on,_" He added, spotting something, "_He hasn't had time to give the Mark to the babe._"

"_I'll do it._" The 'nurse' shrugged, carelessly. Without a flinch, she drew a knife and the tiny hand fell to the floor with a flump. The child screamed in agony but the 'nurse' gave it a sharp slap and snapped, "_Any more of that and it's to the crocodiles with you!_" The babe fell suddenly silent. The 'nurse' blinked in surprise, "_Must have the Rinatula. I really meant it that time._"

Nestriv and Renewl turned, "_Well, we had better go and report this to our Honourable Warlord. We'll take the hand as proof._" They, of course, were not planning to do anything of the sort. They would throw the tiny hand into the sea where it would soon be devoured. The Warlord need never know.

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A/N: Well, I don't think you were expecting that, were you?


	4. Escape

A/N: Still half term so updates are sped up.

**evildictionaryninja: **Thanks for sticking with me and being positive about this story.

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_**Calasier Avamela Prologue**_

_**Noalith - Chapter 2: Escape**_

As long as he could remember, he had always hated being here. He hated those above and those around him. He hated the 'nurse' with her harsh words and harsh thoughts, _She is not fit to be a carer. The Warlord that spawned me must have great hatred for us if he has given us that. He is no father._

He knew full well who his parents were. He had seen it in the thoughts of the 'nurse' what the two generals who brought him here told her. He was the result of a sexual assault by his father on an elf that was thrown to the Finned Crocodiles. He had never seen those generals again but he was glad of it. In his heart, he felt that he loathed them more than his cruel father.

That cruel father had not shown his face either, _He abandons his bastard children in the lowest deck, the first to drown if there were a leek._ He did not want to see him or those cruel thoughts he was bound to have. He would see them with ease and even thinking about what disgusting things lay there made him sick. His gift of the Rinatula (again, he had seen it in the 'nurse''s mind) had made him a tool, the reason why he was not killed, _How many more were there?_ He wondered, sometimes, _How many more were thrown to the Finned Crocodiles before their time had begun?_

He was not always kept in the dark, wooden cell. He was sometimes pulled out, shoved into a cage and brought up to see into the mind of some captive they had brought to the hulk. That was all he was: an eye for the Rhunyle Sea Drow army. He had known this since he looked at the generals who brought him up. They were not Nestriv and Renewl, who were the highest soldiers, but one look into their minds told him everything he needed to know. Therefore, because he loathed them so, he had not told the truth about what he saw once. The fact that they unswervingly believed him was almost laughable.

Others in cells around him had gifts too: the power to see the present, future and past, the power to control movement and, in his case, the power to read minds. The healed-over stump where a right hand had once been was the proof of the Warlord's cruelty, his contempt for the lives even he created. His very existence was proof of that.

Here he was, overgrown dark long hair his only clothing (he would cut it at the first opportunity since he had heard the Warlord had long hair) and pale eyes staring (he knew his appearance from looking in the perceived image of those he saw). But he did not intend to stay. His dearest ambition was to use his abilities for himself and the memories of green lands he saw in prisioners' minds only fuelled them.

Now, at last, he felt he could manage it. A hundred years had passed since he had been locked away here and a hundred years had not been wasted. Every day, he had used his nails to carve a small notch in the wood above him. The 'nurse' never cared to check the cells so she was oblivious to the ever-increasing hole above her. That wasn't all. He did not know how long he would be on the run so he had trained himself thoroughly for it. He managed to train his body to not need food for months, to find the cold wood comfortable at his back, to not need sleep for weeks. He was sure that he was trained for survival.

At last, the light from the floor filtered through the gap and, after straining his extremely perceptive ears, he found that no one was above him. No one was moving anyway. He would have to take a gamble. Luck would be his only possible weapon and even then, not one that would give unswerving loyalty to him. If the 'nurse' came in his cell to bring him food, she would most certainly notice the hole.

So, he made a decision. Today was the day. It was all or nothing. He punched through the rest of the thinned wood and pulled his skeletal-thin body through (which became very useful when squeezing through it). His senses were correct; no one was around. He found himself in a dimly-lit pantry which he recognised from the 'nurse''s memory (and from the scraps on the tables) as the place where the prisoners' food was kept.

Acting on pure instrint, he grabbed a heavy chopping board and placed it over the hole. It would not do for people to realise he was gone too quickly. Luck prevailed for him. The light was so dim that one would never notice the board there, that was a perfect match of the wood floor. Something glimmering caught his attention but it was not a guard's sword. It was a sharp butcher knife. Again, without thinking it through, he picked it up and made for the door.

Luck stayed with him as he mounted four floors. He had near misses and always managed to hide in empty rooms before the Drows came within sight of him. His heart was fluttering as it had never done before. It throbbed within his chest, interferring with his hearing. Luckily, full Drows seemed not as perceptive as he. He was nervous, yes, but he would not back away now. He was daring but not overconfident. He knew luck would not stay with him for long periods of time and so, did not test it.

On the fifth floor up, he spotted something. Something he was sure would guarentee his escape. It was a small boat covered with oilskin coverings, probably meant from under-cover operations. It was supported by a small cart and stood below a trapdoor on the ceiling. He was about to go and investigate when a Drow came through a door on the other side of the room. Ducking behind a pile of crates, he glared at the Drow, who was piling supplies on the boat.

His name was Noalith and he was a thousand-year-old spy who would sail to Lindaria as a trusted politician and gather information of the actions of the Elves. He would be expected back in a year or two. Another spur-of-the-moment plan formed in his head. Raising the knife, he waited until Noalith had his back to him and crept swiftly across the wooden floor. Just as the Drow was putting the last of his bags into the boat, he struck.

The spy fell to the floor, his thoughts extinguishing instantly. A simple cut to the throat had been enough. The white blood spurted over his hands and onto the floor. He was shocked even with himself. He never thought he could kill someone this easily. But now was not the time to contemplate it. Hurriedly, he piled the body onto the boat (he would throw it overboard once far enough from the ship) and climbed in himself. Luck appeared to be on his side. Surely it could not last.

In the murky-smelling boat, there were rations enough to allow an ordinary Drow to last two months. He would last without them for longer than that. The two oars lay ready at the sides. The right one, he noticed, had a wrist-sized hole in the handle, perfect to put a handless arm through. Just as he had pulled the oilskin canvas around the boat, there was a call from above and, with a few dangerous rocks, the boat rose.

He remained stock-still as the boat ascended. If but one flap was lifted...He sat the dead Drow into a slumped sitting position and curled under the gunwale. His heart fluttered with nerves...and elation. Now, in the first shot, he was finally close to achieving his lifelong goal. He struggled to keep his breathing even and waited, keeping as still as he could.

At last, it stopped rising and now, surrounded with more shouts, it began to move forward. But only a small way. Now, it was being lowered. He felt like his insides had been left in the bay. He put both hands over his mouth to stifle any involuntary noise. Presently, the little boat touched the water and there was the sound of ropes being taken away, _Alright. Now for the real escape._

He pushed his wrist through the hole, gripped the left oar and began to row.

* * *

He had not risked throwing the body overboard yet and it was beginning to smell. He considered wrapping it in some of the canvas and throwing it overboard. He somehow felt that the spy at least deserved some dignity in death. He did not know how long it had been since he had taken off. Had they realised he was gone yet? Had they sent out boats to look for him? Or had they not noticed? He felt more strongly toward the latter. The food was untouched and his stomach made no noise of desire of it. His ears were constantly alert to hear any possible threat over the lapping of water (so strange to hear with his own ears).

When he could stand the smell no longer (and when it occured to him that it might be hiding the scent of something unwelcome), he stood and began to dismantle the awning above him. He busied himself with wrapping the body in the burning hot cloth when a sudden warmth crept over his skin through his hair. He whipped around but saw only clear bright sky, a dazzling sun and sparkling blue ocean.

The oilskin slipped through his fingers as he stared around him. Nothing - nothing - he could have seen in a captive's mind would have prepared him for this. The full extent of freedom, laid out before him like a map, like a wildly-lifelike portrait. There was no dark shape on the limitless horizon to darken it. The sea cast light upon his dark hair and he was powerless to stop it. He was powerless to stop the tide gently carrying his tiny vessel across the water.

He was both astonished and frightened by it. It was the first time he had felt so small in his life. What was he but a malnourished half-Drow standing naked in a small wooden boat in this vast world? He could read the minds of Drows yet he could not read the sky, the tides or the sun. In fact, the sun, as though embarrassed and sensitive, would not let him look upon it for long and it burned his eyes.

The boat swayed dangerously as he sank to his knees. Such emotion as he had never felt before coursed through him, too fast and frenzied to rein any control over. He had seen the outside world in others' minds but had never expected it to be so wonderous and overpowering. It was nothing like he had expected. The others' interpretations had given him a false impression of it all. Everything was different now. The rank, stuffy air in the hulk was now the fresh sea air. The dim torches that gave light was replaced was the seemingly-everlasting sun.

A slight, pushing feeling pressed against his skin and hair; making him gave the smallest of starts. Then, he realised with a gasp that he was feeling the wind for the first time in his life. The strange life in the air that he had seen in the minds of captives. That, too, made him feel vulnerable. He wondered what a mother's embrace must feel like. It must be like this: gentle and unintruding but unstoppable.

These thoughts inspired delight and sadness at the same time. His emotions clashed spectacularly in those few moments. His body seemed beyond his control now. Something hot was trickling down his face. Raising his hand, he realised that he was crying. He could remember the last time he had cried. He had not cried when the 'nurse' and generals had beaten him or when he saw what he truly was in the 'nurse''s mind. Yet, now, bright tears were falling from his face to get lost in his hair.

Without thinking, he pushed back his long sheets of hair to bare his naked body to the air. The air responded with its loving wind and he felt as though there was no better feeling in the world.

* * *

A/N: Aw, a nice pretty ending. Next: Noalith meets Hari!


	5. The Prince

A/N: Damn, this is late! Sorry, everyone. This was a hard chapter to do.

**evildictionaryninja: **Thanks, my sole, loyal reviewer.

* * *

_**Calasier Avamela Prologue**_

_**Noalith - Chapter 3: The Prince**_

Presently, he began to investigate more of his surroundings. Using the body of the spy and a length of rope as an anchor (in the end, he decided not to respect the body), he dove into the sea and swam through this new world with great delight. He knew Drows to be naturals in water but he knew it would take a very long time to regulate his body to breath water like air. He had found this out from Drow minds and did not attempt it. Instead, he practiced holding his breath for long periods of time so he could explore the depths.

He liked being in the water. Its strange cleaning power made him feel like he had shed a skin whenever he hauled himself out. His hair had never been so alive when he was beneath the waves. Before, it was nothing more than black, dirty sheets that was his only clothing. Now, each individual strand came to life and floated around him with the grace of dark swans.

Still, he needed his hair and could not cut it yet. The sun was beating down upon him and he discovered the sting of sunburn after a day. This was perhaps why it was practically taboo for Drows to come out in bright sunlight. Contrary to their skin colour, their skin was extremely sensitive to sunlight. What was perhaps the most wondrous to him, though, was the nighttime. Everything became cooler, the sky darkened (frightening him at first since he had no idea of time) and the over-powerful sun turned into the patient moon. He had heard of stars in the minds of captives and was soon picking out constellations, lying flat on his back in the boat.

On the third day (all wonderfully calm and lonely), he came sight of land for the first time. He picked up the oars and began to row slowly but surely towards it. The little boat came smoothly to the place. A great high cliff reared above him and strange frail coloured slivers flew from it out to sea. The water was shallower but he could not see the bottom just yet. He was just scanning the shoreline for a place to land when -

CRASH!

He leapt from the vessel not a second too soon. Something large and heavy had fallen from the cliff. Forgetting his shock in an instant, he ducked underwater to inspect the damage. A back protruded from a large splintered hole in the bottom's wood but it was the spy's body that he had hauled up. Breaking the surface, he poked his head over the gunnels. A male, dark-haired elf lay face down on the wrapped body. He could not sense his thoughts but, while peering at his head, he spotted a thin silver circlet around his head.

On instinct, he pulled the elf from the boat as it began to sink. He could leave the wooden Drow creation to drown now he had no need of it. It was difficult pulling the elf through the water while keeping both their heads up at the same time. It was all he could do to keep it up while avoiding the treacherous-looking rocks of the cliff. Finally, panting and sweating, he found a beach of shingles. He hauled the elf clear of the water and watched the beaten vessel slide beneath the surface.

He glanced down at the elf. The thing seemed unhurt, Noalith's body had broken his fall and taken nearly all of the blow, he supposed. He took a closer look at him. A Wood Elf, perhaps about three hundred years old, and dressed richly that flaunted wealth without falling into gaudiness. The black hair was sleek, the skin smooth and pale yet he could sense some strange torment about him.

Had the elf attempted suicide and, by fate, failed? The idea of suicide intrigued him. He thought nothing was more important than preserving one's life. To take one's life without a thought was alien to him. He could not help but feel a sort of vindictive pleasure for his rescue. It was the Elves that the Drows fought against and saving one seemed a further insult to his father. Not to mention, a very important-looking one. The son of a lord, maybe.

More of those odd thin slivers blew by him. He looked up, distracted. They seemed to be coming from the top of the cliff and a long path cut itself through the rock. He arose and followed it. The stones were sharp beneath his bare feet but he pursued this path. He had not trodden on something solid and unmoving for some time and his 'sea-legs' were still not fully gone. He could vaguely see pale colour above him as he climbed. Presently, he came to the top of the cliff and was shocked by the cool softness of the grass beneath his feet. Again, he had seen all this in the minds of captives but to be in the scene itself...

He sat down on a smooth flat stone and gazed out at the calm ocean from the safety of the shade cast by the trees, _So this is where the wood that makes the hulks comes from._ Many flower petals, he identified them at last, blew from the branches in the wind, _Is this spring?_ There were no seasons as such in the hulks. The only way of telling was when the temperature dropped a few degrees in winter.

He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds all around him. Sounds alien but beautiful to him. The sounds of the forest behind him. The faint rustle of the petals, the flutter of squirrel's feet across the branches, the hiss of a distant waterfall. He felt like lying down and taking it all in as much as he could. Then, another sound interrupted the music of nature.

Opening his eyes, he saw the elf walking up the path. Now, his thoughts were alive. He was Prince Hari Valedhiel of Valivial (he had heard talk of him in the hulk), recently brokenhearted by an elf he had met a day ago and who betrayed him for a Drow. He was making too much of everything. He was pampered and spoilt in every respect. He intended to again attempt suicide.

He felt like sighing at the elf, "_You wish to kill yourself, Prince Hari Valedhiel of Valivial_." There was some enjoyment to be gained by seeing his eyes widen and his thoughts rocket into confusion, "_Your mind intrigues me, Hari. You have fallen completely in love and now wish to kill yourself when you are betrayed_." He could not help but scoff at his weakness. Predictably, the Prince grew angry at the lack of respect he showed, "_No need to act like that to me for your title has no true meaning but in the public's mind_." He had learned long ago that authority did not necessarily deserve respect. At last, Hari spoke,

"_How do you know what I think when I am silent_?"

He briefly considered it and then, spoke, "_I am a rogue of your enemy_." He showed him the missing right hand, "_I am the bastard child of the Drow Lord Manastreth and I have stuck land today. You landed in my boat as I cast ashore and thus, it lies at the bottom of the sea now. I was not tossed into the sea for the Finned Crocodiles to prey on because I have the gift of the Rinatula. Your mind is like an open book to me...and I have never seen such a weak, unprotected and simple one_." Just as Hari opened his mouth to reply, he vaguely heard footsteps coming towards them, "_Forget me, Prince Hari Valedhiel._" He swept into the shelter of the trees, leaving Hari on his own on the cliff-face. He would not attempt suicide again for the words he had heard now prevented him.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, he dwelled in the forest area of what he now knew was the island of Lindaria. He ate the fruits (only to test the food in Lindaria, not out of hunger) and bathed in the waterfall to get the salt out of his hair. He could not yet cut it since he had no other clothing or protection from the sun and he had lost the knife he had killed Noalith with.

Everything about this place astonished him. He had thought seeing the sun for the first time was wondrous enough but now he was on land, he knew he had barely scratched the surface. Most of all, he was amazed by the trees. They were the not the lifeless wood he had come to know as the material that made the hulk. They were alive, feeling ravenously for sunlight and water. When he pressed his ear against the trunk, he could hear the rush of water through it.

He had no desire to seek contact with other elves. He knew that a mysterious half-Drow with no right hand would be suspicious and he knew how easy it was for people to get the wrong idea. So, he remained in his hermit life in the forest. Until about a month after his arrival on Lindaria.

He had been bathing, facing the waterfall when it happened, clawing out some tangles in his hair. He did not hear her coming. He only noticed her when he turned around. He leapt onto the bank in an instant, poised for attack. For in front of him was a female Drow, wrapped in a sea cloak though her green robe was visible underneath, leaning on a staff and her chestnut hair wrapped in a hasty bun. Then, he stopped. Her thoughts and even her face seemed benevolent,

"_Oh, there's no need to fear me._" She said, her kind voice matching these traits, "_I didn't mean to startle you. We are searching for a half-Drow with a missing right hand and with the gift of Rinatula._"

"_That is I, Calenedil, leader of the Lindarian Nimohtar._" He answered, having read her thoughts while she had been talking,

"_Oh, good._" She smiled. She beckoned him forward but this small motion set off a coughing fit that wracked her frail body. It didn't take the Rinatula to know she was in ill health, "_Sorry, sorry, I have taken ill a hundred years ago and I have been such an inconvenience to my Nimohtar._" After recovering, she gingerly reached into her cloak, "_I have been told to give this to you from the King and Queen of Valivial._" Calenedil drew out an enormous sack of what looked curiously like gold, "_For rescuing the Prince._"

"_I thank you,_" He inclined his head respectfully. This was one who was worthy of his courtesy, "_but I have no interest in money._"

"_But, surely, you would like a replacement for the hand you lost._" This idea had never occurred to him before and made his eyebrows rise, "_There is more than enough to pay the smithy to make you a steel replacement._" She held out a hand, leaning heavily on her staff, "_At least, let me house you. I'd hate to think of you out here on your own...Oh, goodness. I have not even asked your name!_"

"_No need for worry._" He shrugged, "_I have no name._"

"_Come now, you can't go around with no name._" She gently admonished him like a parent, "_Give yourself one now. It will make things easier._"

After a bit of thought, the name came to him, "_Noalith._"

"_Very well. Noalith, you shall be. Now, come. I'll take you to my home._"

Noalith took her hand and, half-supporting her in a moment of weakness, followed her to the main city.

* * *

A/N: Thus ends the Noalith arc. I don't know whether to go onto Verimir or do a short bit on Manastreth.


	6. Lost in Fire

A/N: I've got this up at last! My new addiction to Oblivion was getting in the way somewhat but I still managed it.

**evildictionaryninja: **Let me clear it up for you. Noalith didn't want to contact any other people because he was scared of what they might do if they found out he was Manastreth's son. Is that better now? Now, I've got something to ask you. I am really at a loss at what to do with the Maltandir part. Any ideas to get me going you can offer?

* * *

_**Calasier Avamela Prologue**_

_**Manastreth: Lost in Fire**_

He trembled in fear, begging his mind to block out the noises coming from all around him. Screams of pain and the roar of fast-approaching flames. The clash of swords and the cry of spells. Manastreth clapped both his hands over his mouth, quivering so much that his headdress shook with fear. The enormous sword lay useless in front of him, dropped some time ago,

_Where are Nestriv and Renewl? They said they would come and rescue me after they had cleared away._ His legs pulled themselves closer to his torso, _What if something happened to them? Oh, what am I to do? If only I had spent more time practicing with my sword, I might be able to help. But, I'll only be a hindrance, I know it. Father always said I was useless..._

His thoughts went on and on like this as he shrank further and further into the wall. The sword quivered on the floor as though it shared its master's fear. The Elves were probably swarming like flies all over his ship, killing every Drow in sight, _Oh, why did they have to attack us? I'm scared._ He gripped his shoulders, hugging himself tightly, _My children...my wives...where are you? Brother, help me..._

The air was split with a great creaking noise and, with a crash that made him leap to his feet, the mast came down onto his cabin in a shower of splinters and sparks. He shielded himself with his arms and peered over them. The fire was spreading now and he would soon be surrounded. Shakily, he picked up his sword and, his hand shielding his face from the heat, he leapt out through the hole made.

The whole ship was littered with Drow bodies, some already burning. And there were only a few Elf bodies. He felt sick. The strong smell of burning flesh made him dizzy. Stumbling backwards, he tripped on something. The something grunted in pain. Looking down, he gasped, "_Nestriv! Renewl!_" Horror filled him as he saw the deep wounds all over their bodies and he had to clap his hands over his mouth to stop the scream welling up inside him,

"_Don't fret about us, you idiot._" growled Nestriv. His helmet lay in broken shards beside him and he was bleeding from a deep gash on his forehead, "_Start worrying about yourself for once._"

"_But...you're wounded..._"

"_This is fine!_" barked Renewl, his voice rasping from pain, "_This is the finest death a Drow can ask for; dying in the heat of battle._"

"_There's no such thing as a fine death!_" Tears leaked from his eyes at the sight of them, "_You can't die! I don't want you to die! If you die, whatever shall I do?_"

"_Be quiet, will you?_" snarled Nestriv, flinching away from Manastreth's attempts to pick him up, "_And leave us alone. Your army's being killed and here you are, blubbing like a baby over our deaths._"

Not one part of what he said made any sense to him. Surely they didn't want to die. They couldn't die. They were the strongest warriors on the ship, "_I can't do anything._" Manastreth sobbed as Renewl gave a groan of agony, "_You were right; I am effeminate, I am no good as a Warlord. My brother was the better..._" His sobs were getting the better of him and his thoughts wandered, "_...so why was it him that died and I that lived?_" He buried his face in his hands and wept. Nestriv half-shouted,

"_Shut up! Your sentimentality's making me sick. Now, do us all a favour and jump ship. Let the Crocodiles have you if you won't defend your own army. Damn,_" He groaned, looking around, "_this ship's doomed anyway. The fire's spreading._"

More screams made Manastreth look up startled. A dozen unclothed, unkempt half-Drows, all with overgrown hair spilled out from a hole in the deck. They were fleeing in a blind panic away from a single pursuing elf. His hair was glittering black, his sword shimmering silver and his armour (though bloodstained) seemed to glow wildly in the firelight. His pale face showed no emotion as he cut down the slowest; a girl who looked so young she might have been in her twenties,

"_Calasier Avamela,_" growled Nestriv, "_he was the one who fought and defeated us._"

"_Calasier Avamela?_" Manastreth gasped. He had heard of the Prince of Valivial who, four hundred years ago, had become cold, heartless and cruel. Indeed, he showed no mercy to the defenceless half-Drows as he killed them one by one without hesitation, "_No..._" The words came from his mouth unbidden in his horror of the massacre taking place before his eyes, "_...no..._"

"_Damn it,_" growled Nestriv,

"_Please, don't talk so much._" Manastreth said, looking fretfully at the motionless Renewl, "_You need to save your strength._" Nestriv ignored him,

"_He's killing those brats._"

"_Brats?_" Manastreth looked up at the three that remained. They had managed to climb up the second mast and sat fearfully in the crow's nest. The fire was spreading to the figurehead now, its light casting upon them. One small boy's hair spilled over the side, showing it to be pure white. His golden eyes stared, wide-eyed in fear. He didn't know how he knew. It just came to him as soon as their eyes met, "_My...my children...?_"

"_Of course._" Nestriv's voice was growing weaker, "_We spared the ones that had special gifts and put them in the lowest cabins below._"

"_You never told me..._" Manastreth bore no anger, simply shock, "_...you __**deceived**__ me...?_" He stared back at the children. Calasier Avamela had sheathed his sword and was now climbing the rigging. A sudden rush of fire burst inside him. He could not allow him to harm his children. In a swift movement, he ran straight at Calasier Avamela and landed a heavy blow to his head. It hit the mast and the elf slumped, unconscious.

Not hesitating for a second, he leapt onto the rigging and was in the crow's nest within seconds. The little children shrank at the sight of him, "_Do not fear, little ones._" He said, pushing down the blaze of fury within him and his love for them blossomed in place, "_I am your father. I will get you away from here._" With that, he scooped them up and leapt from the mast. He ran down flights of stairs, through dozens of battles that were too intense to take notice of him. At last, he found the longboat-holding cabin and that, thankfully, was not affecting by the fire. He bundled them all into the nearest and stuffed six supply bags into it, containing enough food to last them until they reached land and enough money to sustain them when they did. He pushed it into the shallow dock and proceeded to pull up the sea hatch.

When he returned to them, he saw the biggest already picking up one of the oars, "_Please, you must escape this place._"

The white-haired one looked puzzled, "_You are our father, the one who forced us to live in a dungeon and cut off our hands._"

Manastreth gasped. None of this was true. Nestriv and Renewl had done all that, surely. How much have they hidden from him? "_It was not I. My generals snatched you all from me and told me they killed you. I had no idea that you lived._"

"_He isn't lying._" said the only girl, a red-haired half-Fire elf, "_I saw his past and he is no tyrant. He has been dominated by overbearing generals who wanted him to be like his father._"

"_You know?_"

"_I have the Wanvila. I can see visions of the past._" She smiled at him, "_I wanted to meet you. You seem so nice._"

New tears flowed from his eyes and he hugged her, "_Oh, I wish I had known your existence. I would have cherished you all._" A loud thump and a scream echoed from above, "_There is no time! You must go from here. Live long lives free of your shackles._"

"_What of you, Father?_" asked the girl,

"_That, I know not. But I must see you survive this! You must leave this terrible place. Let me give you names that I hope you shall bare as a reminder of this brief moment of me._" He named the girl Nelgatha (meaning forgiveness due to her nature; he presented her with an amber pendant he was given by who he supposed was her mother), the white-haired boy Korinhir (meaning snow after his hair; he gave him a ring of warding from his finger given to him by his brother) and the biggest one Zeres (meaning strength due to his size; it was he that Manastreth entrusted his dagger). He kissed each of them and pushed the boat out into open sea. The oilskins fell on their wet faces and Manastreth watched the little boat sail away out of sight, _Deities, if you exist, hear my prayer. Guard those three that sail tonight. Bring them to their new lives safe and may my memory live forever in their minds._

He glanced up at the ceiling. Fire was beginning to seep through the ceiling. He thought of who was above him, _My children will never be safe until I stop Calasier Avamela pursuing them._ Gulping in fear in spite of himself, he retraced his steps back up to the deck. Why had he ever been afraid? If it was to protect his children, he would have faced a thousand enemies and gladly. He would defeat Calasier Avamela. He would not kill him but he would defeat him. He would defend his children, save Nestriv and Renewl and go away to start a new life away from war.

He came onto the flaming deck, the fire holding no fear for him now. His opponent, the threat to his peace, was getting to his feet, rubbing the place where he had been struck. Nestriv and Renewl were concealed by flames, _I do hope they are alright._ His right hand raised without fear and he drew his broadsword. Calasier Avamela saw him and readied his sword,

"_You have finally shown your face, Manastreth, Warlord of the Rhunyle Sea._"

Manastreth knew it was customary for Warlords to give a speech before fighting a strong opponent. He knew exactly what to say, "_Before, I was a meek Drow, dominated by my generals. Now, I face you alone to defend those I love. I have never taken a life and I do not intend to start now. I bear you no hatred but, for the sake of my children, I will defeat you._"

Calasier Avamela raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He pushed forward and the battle began.

* * *

Nestriv and the newly conscious Renewl stared at the swords clashed and the opponents darted about the deck. They were both silent and wide-eyed for a long time. It was Renewl who spoke first, "_He's amazing!_" For indeed, Manastreth could have been mistaken for his father, he fought so well. Better, perhaps, since he was slighter than Calasier Avamela. The bulky, clumsy-looking sword moved fluidly, weightlessly in the air, singing in the wind in whistles and whooshes. Calasier Avamela was already sporting scratches to the arm and face,

"_He could have taken us on anytime and won!_" Nestriv gasped, as Manastreth only just missed a swipe that would have chopped off his head, "_If he was this good, why didn't he say? He would be a fine Warlord!_"

"_Even better if he wasn't holding back so much._" Renewl's comment made Nestriv look round puzzled, "_Oh yes, he's holding back. I've seen about five times he could have killed Calasier Avamela so far and he ignored them all. Calasier Avamela is merciless. If this carries on, it will be Manastreth who will be defeated._"

"_Damn,_" Nestriv growled, "_if I wasn't like this, I'd help him!_"

"_Help him?_"

"_Of course! He's the warlord and we're his generals, Renewl!_"

* * *

Out of the corner of his eye, Manastreth saw one of his half-Drow children who was slashed at the shoulder get shakily to his feet. This gave him new heart. If he could save that one, his family would be one person bigger. Calasier Avamela was weakening. His movements were getting slower. Or were his getting faster? Either way, he was winning. He smiled with delight. He had never won against anyone apart from the times his brother had let him win, _My family will be safe for sure._ He shot the smile briefly at the half-Drow boy, who was leaning against the second mast, watching the fight, _Stay alive, my son, for I will save you!_

_CLANG!_

The silver, emerald-encrusted sword flew high into the air and landed about five feet away. Calasier Avamela stared at it, his empty hand reached out two feet too short, as though unable to believe it. Manastreth felt like jumping in the air and cheering but, thinking that would be bad etiquette, he stuck his sword into the deck so it stood alone; a gesture of peace,

"_You fight with great strength, Valivian, but fate has chosen me to be the victor._" Calasier Avamela turned to glare at him. His green eyes were cold and emotionless, though his face was outraged at his defeat. Manastreth smiled kindly, "_You are a worthy fighter but you are young. I beg you to declare your defeat and call back your troops. I shall call mine to peace if you do so. There is no need for further bloodshed on our account. I will let you and your army leave here unscathed. Do I have your word?_" He turned and smiled widely at the half-Drow. His heart leapt when he managed a smile back.

_WHOOSH!_

Something whizzed past his ear, clipping a few strands of his hair. He had barely time to look round when a dagger appeared stuck in the half-Drow's neck. Horror and shock filled him. With a strangled cry, he stretched out his left arm as the limp boy fell to the floor -

A flood of pain shot through his shoulder and he fell ungracefully to his knees, whimpering. It was only when he gripped his shoulder and saw the ghastly evidence before him in a pool of blood did he realise that his arm had gone. He could have screamed, he could have fainted from the sight but the sound of a voice above him and the feel of a cold sword pressed to his neck stopped him,

"_That is my answer, Manastreth._" Calasier Avamela stood over him, completely changed from the defeated elf he had seen just moments before. Now he was the dominant one, "_I could see from the moment I saw you that you were not the brutal tyrant I was led to believe you were. Perhaps those two were dominating you._" He gestured at the staring Nestriv and Renewl, "_There was a look of greed about them. You are a weak Drow, unworthy of the title of Warlord. You cannot even be called a soldier. You have none of the pride or sinew that is due to that name._"

Manastreth sobbed to the deck, still blinded with pain, "_If a soldier's pride and sinew means slaughtering innocent children, then I don't want it._" Behind him, he heard both Nestriv and Renewl collapse. This could not be happening. He could have sworn he had won and surely it was soldier's etiquette to give up the fight after he had lost his sword.

His right hand reached back and found the hilt of his sword. Though blinded with rage, grief and pain, he stood up and made a desperate lunge.

* * *

The sea was calm, barely throwing up any spray against the rock. So, if anyone had been there, the arm that shot up from the blue would have been obvious. Clawing desperately at the rock, it found its mark and pulled up the sodden, beaten Drow. Barely holding onto the broken fragments of his broadsword, he choked up more blood, splattering white drops before him.

He managed to scramble onto the rock and made his painful way up the rock-face, slipping more and more with each inch he moved. Finally, he reached a cave, a deep hollow in the rock. He crawled into the darkness and the whole place echoed with his sobbing.

* * *

A/N: Aw, don't you just ache for him? I didn't put this chapter up for no reason by the way. It will all become clear in the future.


	7. Jewels in the Rough

A/N: Hi again. Not a very long chapter this time but you can't expect much. This is pretty last-minute.

**evildictionaryninja: **Thanks for the help. I'm all un-writer's-blocked now.

* * *

_**Calasier Avamela Prologue**_

_**Verimir - Chapter 1: Jewels in the Rough **_

The house was dark and dingy. A wooden door swung limply in the wind from one hinge, half concealed by a dented pillar. It was open enough to allow a small orange light to become visible if one peered through the gap. Not that anyone dared without receiving a punctured eye or worse. The house (or, what the public called a house) was the domain of delinquents and boarding house for passing thieves.

Yet, despite its fearsome reputation, an elf was seen running through the purposefully planted nettles that surrounded it like a wall of sentries, wincing every time he was stung. His ripped clothes provided a failed shield and he came close to tripping over many far-reaching tree roots. He spat and cursed at the blasted plants. Then, just as he thought things couldn't get worse, a shadow sprang from the ground, making him leap back right into them. He paid no heed to the seering pain but drew a broken dagger from his belt, _A wraith,_ he thought, _So old members of the gang do haunt the place._

Cackles emerged from within the shadow and it split into three, something falling in a heap between them. Three Fire elves stood above him, laughing, "I like this one!" One roared,

"Yeah, good reactions." A particularly stunted one guffawed, who might have been mistaken for a halfling at a distance,

"And he didn't run away either." The tallest one sneered. All were speaking in English. When not spoken to humans, English was a delinquent's language and all gangs used it amongst themselves, "He passes the test. What do you want, stranger?"

"To join you." Pushing back his hood, he revealed his golden skin and hair, "I am Verimir Moorefield, defected from the Akhohr, come to join you in rebellion against Valivial."

The tallest, whom Verimir supposed was the leader, scoffed, "No need to be so formal. You isn't the Akhohr, y'know!" He turned away and made to walk off. About two steps from him, he turned and aimed a kick that was seen a second before it happened. Despite searing with pain from the nettles, Verimir managed to elude him, aiming a kick in turn at the small one, that was caught off guard and toppled face first into the nettles, "Ooh, I like him a lot." nodded the leader, disregarding his comrade's groans of pain as red lumps appeared on his face, "Alright, rookie, you're in. Now, come on. You need to fix those stings."

Verimir followed them inside, wincing as he put weight on his stung legs. The place was all one room, the ceiling boarded in many places where cracks had started. Abolut half a dozen more grubby-looking elves and a few Drows sat around a metal barrel wherein a small fire burned. They shifted to make room for him and the leader stood at the head of the group,

"Right, we've got a new friend here." Verimir opened his mouth to give his name but was silenced by the leader, "No point us knowing your name. You're Gold Diamond from now on because you're strong. It's not easy to bring down Steel Jasper here." He jerked his head to the stunted one. There was an impressed murmer around the group, confirming this statement, "Right, you lot. This one's really important. He used to be an Akhohr," More impressed murmers, louder than before, permeated the air, "so he's trained to fight. So no funny business or it's to the nettles with you!"

From the uncomfortable shifting around the group, Verimir realised that he wasn't the only one who was nursing nettle stings. In time, he was handed some leaves to rub on his legs and was introduced to the rest of the group. The elves were mostly Fire Elves and all seemed very interested in the obvious Drow blood in him, no matter how weak. Copper Agate was the first to introduce herself. Her hair hung upkempt down her back, the dim firelight making it impossible to tell which colour, partly concealing a quiver of arrows.

Then, Iron Garnet, who simply gave him a long melancholy glare after stating her name. Her hair grew to cover her face but he thought he saw the glimpse of a scar under it. Copper Agate, who seemed to like him best out of all of them, pointed out Silver Jade (the only Water elf with long silver hair, who sat slowly sharpening his dagger, staring determinedly at the fire), Aluminium Topaz (who glared at his ragged Akhohr uniform with distaste in her violet eyes), Bronze Kunsite (who gave him a crooked smile in response to his look; she might have been pretty had her not been so severely burned) and Tin Turquoise (the youngest-looking with an empty left sleeve).

After the elves had been named, the three Drows came forward. They were Lead Malachite (mercilessly scarred and harsh-spoken, he offered his three-fingered hand), Cobalt Opal (the palest of the Drows, who did not speak but merely nodded, her dark lips tightly shut) and Mercury Pearl (who had nothing but dislike in her face). The first three named themselves as the Titanium: Titanium Sapphire (the leader), Titanium Onyx (the smaller one that Verimir had kicked) and Titanium Quartz.

* * *

The days were long and lazy in the shack. There was nothing much to do except lie around the fire, sometimes talking, sometimes staring up at the ceiling. Verimir welcomed the change. It gave him time to think things over. He knew he had been right in leaving the Akhohr. He hated being there. The soldiers would never stop bothering him when they were and weren't drunk. He had never wanted to join the Akhohr anyway; he had wanted to become a priest and help the needy rather than blindly kill all manner of creatures for no real reason. He never thought encroaching on terrority was a valid reason.

What he loved about the little place more than anything was that, when you wanted to talk, people would talk. Even those whom he thought did not like him like Mercury Pearl and Aluminium Topaz. Yet, when he was silent, the people around him were silent but for the quiet scrapings of Silver Jade's dagger (he never seemed to stop sharpening it). People would take it in turns to steal food from the market every few days and Copper Agate would go out sometimes to make nettle juice for the others (which he found was quite good to drink despite his misgivings).

No one really was the leader, even though the Titanium had given the impression of leadership on him. They were more sentries than leaders. No one really talked. The order of the place seemed to run without the need for orders or force. Verimir became a little worried that he would not fit in if he did not know the order. He voiced these worries to Copper Agate on the pretence of going out to help her hunt a few wolves for their much-needed pelts. Winter was coming fast,

"I will help you understand it." She said, kindly, as she cut the fur off the flesh with frightening ease, "Your turn will come. Probably when a few of us go out on a Beryl and Emerald." In answer to his bewildered look, she giggled, "We break into a house and steal things that'll come in handy."

"Breaking and entering?"

"You could call it that but we call it a Beryl and Emerald. I'd say," She frowned, thoughtfully, looking up at the sky, "the last one will be a few days from now. We cannot go out in the winter due to the cold. If so, we will all go. Not all together, obviously. That would be far too conspicious. We split up and break into rich houses in all villages nearby. Unless we can sneak a ride on the backs of carts."

She talked as though it was the most natural thing in the world but Verimir was troubled. He did not like the idea of breaking into people's houses but he did not like the rich either. He did not like his wealthy, uptight foster family and none of their friends. He found more people he liked in the poorer villages and would sneak out as often as he could to play with them. Still, he could not help but feel doubts about stealing without a just cause.

Then, the image of the barely-standing shack came to mind. These people were poor and the wealthy always had more than they needed. They could spare a few coats and snow-boots.

* * *

A/N: So, how was that?


	8. The Beryl and Emerald

A/N: I'll say it again, I only update if I get reviews. I don't like wasting my time for nothing, that's all.

**evildictionaryninja: **I was beginning to lose hope there! There's an explanation about Steel Jasper here and, no, it isn't a cover-up for my mistake. Lol...

* * *

_**Calasier Avamela Prologue**_

_**Verimir - Chapter 1: The Beryl and Emerald**_

Copper Agate proved her word when, a few days later, the group was rallying together, gathering weapons from beneath a loose floorboard and pulling on cowls. Gold Diamond (Verimir had got used to his new nickname) was placed in a group with Copper Agate, Silver Jade, Tin Turquoise, Mercury Pearl, Titanium Sapphire, Cobalt Opal and Iron Garnet. They were sent to a town near what Gold Diamond knew to be a mine. They travelled mostly on foot through frost-hardened grass, enjoying the crunching sound beneath their feet.

Copper Agate filled in Gold Diamond on most of the details about them, including idle anecdotes. The most confusing detail he heard so far is that, outside of their 'territory' and when unfamiliar people were around, all of the members had to call themselves Steel Jasper, after their first leader. This respectful gesture was meant to stop people tracking them down by their name but Gold Diamond couldn't get his head around it. Then, he thought back and remembered Titanium Sapphire calling Titanium Onyx that when he first came. He supposed newcomers came under the heading of 'unfamiliar'. Still, it was a confusion when someone called 'Steel Jasper', since no one knew exactly who they were referring to.

They entered the dense forest just as the snow started to set in and a strange sound reached Gold Diamond's ears. A ringing of hammers, the grunts of straining and the unmistakable crack of whips. He wanted to pause to listen. He had never heard anything like this before yet the other seven were walking past as though this was perfectly normal.

Certainly, he had taken the road that they were now leaving. That trailed off to the left and he had often ridden carriages along those roads. He never asked why they veered suddenly to the left when there was a much quicker path straight on with no visible obstruction. His parents only gave evasive answers or feeble excuses of orc camps around the area. He tugged the first sleeve in front of him that belonged to Mercury Pearl. She turned and glared at him,

"Tell me," Gold Diamond said, undaunted, "what is that sound?" To his surprise, she glanced around, as though expecting to see an intruder, "The sound of metal. Is there a mine?" She pulled a face,

"You have travelled down here in your youth, have you not? You know what lies beyond those trees." She pointed straight ahead of them. As they walked, the noises were becoming disturbingly louder, with more noises adding to them that Gold Diamond's advanced hearing picked up: the sound of harsh voices, the clink of chains and the stretch of tense ropes,

"No, I do not." Gold Diamond shook his head, ignoring her scornful look, "We have always taken the roads."

"Well then," Mercury Pearl shrugged, "you'll see soon enough."

"Can you not tell me now?"

"We don't tell newcomers," Titanium Sapphire interrupted from the head of the group, "what is there. It gives a bigger impact that way."

Gold Diamond frowned. Suddenly, Silver Jade shouted, "Caravan!"

They all ducked behind trees with a practised, routine ease. Gold Diamond had to duck behind a bush just in time before a caravan trundled into view. It was pulled by three sturdy-looking horses and the canvas was a blood red. With a jolt, he recognised it. It was one of the Akhohr's transportation caravans, used to transport soldiers over long distances, _Why do they come here though?_

He did not have time to ponder though. The caravan had stopped on the road just where they had left it. Gold Diamond quickly crawled across the grass behind a thick oak to prevent the soldiers trampling on him. The last thing he needed was the Akhohr to find him and discover the Steel Jasper Gang (as he called it in his head). He got behind it in time before the grey-robed soldiers came close to his hiding place, _Assistant-Captains._ They trod the footsteps his group had trodden before and realised with another jolt that they had left icy footprints where they had gone.

However well-thought of the Akhohr was, however, they did not see the obvious tracks of a recent troupe before them. They trekked on, even failing to notice the cracked branch Iron Garnet had pulled off because it was in her way. Gold Diamond shook his head: where the Akhohr excelled in brute strength, they failed in detection. Which was why he supposed they were so susceptable to surprise ambushes.

When their footsteps had faded, he made to stand but he was immediately shoved back down by Mercury Pearl, "What do you think you're doing?" She snapped, "They'll be back in a minute." She spat bitterly, "Trust our luck to come her just when the drivers are changing."

_Drivers?_ Was it perhaps a grand stadium of racing horses beyond there? That would explain the whipping but the striking of metal on metal was still a mystery. Did they fight on horseback? Was a sort of jousting tournament? But no, if it was, his foster parents would be very comfortable with telling him. They were what they called 'cultured folk'. Gold Diamond called it trying to get noticed at any event that many important elves. And surely a jousting or race would attract their attention and not their aversion.

He sat with his back to the oak, pondering this mystery. He thought back to the maps he had seen in his foster father's study. This was the Heartforest: he could tell by the knot in the oak he was sitting against shaped like a heart. This was also a natural place for portals to the human world to appear, though they appeared very irregularly and no one knew why they appeared. It was rumoured to be the place the human Steel Jasper had appeared according to Copper Agate. On the map, there was nothing but a narrow valley before the next village,

_So what would drivers do there? And without their caravan? How can they drive without their caravans?_ It was baffling. It allowed his mind wonder from his freezing backside and often contemplating going on alone to see what was going on. He hated not knowing something other people did. Mercury Pearl's hand remained firm on his shoulder, as though she thought he would wonder off if she let him go.

Presently, more soldiers came back the way the others came but they were not the same ones. After they passed his hiding place, they left with a snorting of horses and clattering of wheels. Mercury Pearl slowly released him and jerked her head towards the path (for he now realised it was a path under the frost). So the party moved on.

The trees thinned and the sounds grew louder. He could hear clear voices now and they chilled him to the core. They were cries of pain; _elven_ cries of pain. Shouts of, "_Faster!_" and, "_Get up!_" echoed within him. His curiousity became too much control. He strode foreward while the others stayed back at the edge of the trees. The valley lay ahead just as the map stated but what the map did not record was a makeshift wooden staircase starting where he approached the edge. A convenience for people to go up or down with ease.

The valley was much shallower than he had expected, only about a hundred feet deep, with many dark doorways in the dry face. He had been told a rumour than a reservoire was there to support homeless elves. They could not have been more wrong. Even from his high viewpoint, he could see the seering red stripes on the burned skin of the chained elves below. Hundred upon hundreds of sparsely-dressed, ragged-clothed, dull-spirited slaves dragged their feet across the stone. The clink of chains mingled with grunts of strain and pain as the whips cracked. Whips held by the very assistant captains he had seen going to the site.

So, this was what Mercury Pearl meant. They were _slave drivers._ Gold Diamond stood on the precipace, horrified by what he beheld below. His breathing grew ragged and rapid and he felt the blood drain from his face; he had never seen anything so horrible in all his life. He had heard of humans employing slave labour but they were not as wise as elves; they could be excused. But, for elves to do it. And Akhohr as well,

"Awful, isn't it?" Copper Agate had come to his side, "That's been there ever since Steel Jasper came. We have been fighting an unknown war against that place for centuries. We do little things like put rats in the guard's food supply and throw stones at them. They don't know about them but we can't do anything too serious or else we'll hurt the slaves."

"Who are they?" Gold Diamond asked in a low voice, "Who are they that warrent such punishment?"

"Criminals. Not all serious ones. They are sentenced to serve here for a century or a millenium. I hear the maximum is two thousand years. They dig for mithril and other things like that. Those who receive the two thousand years will die at the end of it." She pointed at the far end of the valley. There was a ominous-looking set of gallows with shining mithril rope to make the noose, _How dare they defile such a pure and wonderous metal to such a use!_

In his anger, he picked up a stone at his feet, took careful aim and threw it as hard as he could at a driver whose arm was a blur with the amount of whipping he did. Copper Agate gasped and pulled him down into the long grass. He peeked over the edge and watched the little stone's progress. He smiled; the aim was true. The stone struck him right on the head, his arm stopped and he keeled over unconscious,

"Good aim!" Copper Agate smiled, "It's the best thing to do, throw stones at them. So long as we aren't seen, they always blame bits that fell off with natural erosion. Come on." They crawled away from the terrible place, the mithril noose still burned into Gold Diamond's mind, "It's horrible. Why does the King let this go on?"

"This place," Gold Diamond swallowed, "it's isn't on any map."

"The high-ups are the only ones who know about it." Copper Agate sighed, "And they keep very quiet about. It's Valivial's secret shame."

"I'll stop it." Gold Diamond growled, to no one in particular, "I'll clear this place out and make it into a lake that the homeless can drink from and fish can swim in."

Copper Agate stared, surprised but approving, "That sounds lovely. Deities know that we could do with more places for people like us."

Gold Diamond followed the party away from the terrible place with a wrench in his heart. He had meant what he said.

* * *

They came to the town at last. Afternoon was wearing on and many windows emitted warm golden glows. The party did not enter the place but skirted around the edges, searching for a weak house. An unlocked back door, an open window or an empty house. Titanium Sapphire pointed out opportune places and they all split into teams of two or three. Gold Diamond was paired with Tin Turquoise, who immediately got to work climbing the drainpipe of the largest and emptiest-looking house. She climbed effortlessly up the smooth metal as though it had been a climbing wall from the training halls of the Akhohr and broke a window with her gloved fist.

Gold Diamond hesistated for a moment and then, punched a hole in the downstairs window. He regretted it at once for many shards stuck into his hand and bled painfully. Tin Turquoise gasped as soon as she got downstairs and hastened to bandage the wound with a hung-up scarf on the wall, "Never punch a window with a bare hand. Have a metal glove on like me. There," She admired her handiwork of bloody linen, "that should do it. Now, search the place up and down. I'll take the downstairs, you take the upstairs. I can warn you if they come back that way."

Despite the sting in his hand, he ran up the stairs and into the first room on the right. It looked like a female's bedroom with sewing frames, half-made dresses and dozens upon dozens of finished feminine garments. Gold Diamond always associated sewing with females, though he knew that was not always the case. The bedroom put up little resistance to him stealing silver needles, finely made handkerchiefs and the throw on the bed. He picked up some of the fur-lined garments that looked like they'd fit Iron Garnet, Mercury Pearl and the other females. He could at least make a peace offering to those who still distrusted him. He stuffed them all into the bags he'd been given.

He left some there, though. He was not too greedy. He had been taught by the Titanium to not take everything he saw but to 'leave some for next time'. He was just taking a pair of turquoise earrings for Tin Turquoise when a call from below made him shoot up, "Fly, Steel Jasper! Steel Jasper!" He made a dash out and, very foolishly, ran downstairs again straight into the clutches of a brown-haired female wearing fur-lined white robes and a matching squirrel-fur hat. He pushed her away and made a dash back upstairs again, cursing his foolishness.

He had not got two steps up, however, when he was grabbed from behind and he fell on top of her, "Unhand me!" He cried, frightened. She seemed harmless but her parents would be here, no doubt. What they were doing to Tin Turquoise, he dreaded to think. He managed to get free of her a second time and ran back into the room. He threw open the window and, though pain shot through the leg he landed on, he bolted through the garden and out of the village, spoils in hand.

Behind him, he heard a male voice, "_Where is she? That little thief!_"

"_Papa! Papa!_" The girl he had ran into called, "_There was another! He got away!_"

"_Oh, Gailia, did he hurt you?_"

"_No, he ran...!_"

"_There you are!_" Tin Turquoise, scratched but triumphant, stood behind him, clutching more full bags than he. He could have cried and kissed her but, instead, he ran away from the place with her, gripping her hand.

* * *

A/N: Short but was it sweet? I did most of this tonight as a last minute thing. I hope it doesn't show.


	9. Caught

A/N: I think the next chapter'll be the last one, then I'll get back to the main storyline.

**evildictionaryninja:** I hope all your questions will be answered here.

* * *

_**Calasier Avamela Prologue**_

_**Verimir - Chapter 3: Caught**_

When they joined with the rest of the group, all triumphant and accounted for, they emptied their bags out onto the floor, each person having their own heap. Gold Diamond saw with a pang that his was noticeably smaller than all the others (though he was still astonished that Tin Turquoise could gather so much despite having only one arm). The silver needles skittered across the floor and one was nearly lost between the floorboards. Titanium Quartz inspected his pile closely. Gold Diamond relaxed when he saw approval on his face when he picked up the many dresses he had stolen,

"Did you steal these from the house of Melys Serrowind, perchance?"

"I don't know." Gold Diamond shrugged, "They had a daughter called Gailia, though."

"Aye, I heard they had a girl. Serrowind and her family are some of the most skilled seamstresses in this region, possibly in all Valivial. Pity they restrict themselves to female clothing. Tin Turquoise chose a good house for your first Beryl and Emerald. Aye, these look perfect for the girls. About their size, too. How'd you know the daughter's name, by the way?"

"I overheard the father talking her before I left." Gold Diamond said, truthfully. He did not want anyone to know they had seen by the girl; he feared their reaction, a fear that increased as Titanium Quartz nodded,

"Good. Wouldn't want to hear that you'd been seen."

Suppressing his worry as much as he could, he swallowed and said, "I noticed that the slavery mine was so near the town. Do they do nothing to stop it?"

"Nah. They like to pretend it doesn't exist. They all like to ignore it."

"That's awful!" Gold Diamond shook his head in disbelief. He was still reeling from the sight of the slaves in chains and lashed with whips,

"Aye, 'tis that." Titanium Quartz nodded solemnly, "There are some who oppose it but they're only a small voice, a minority." He straightened up, "Hai, girls, Gold Diamond got some new winter clothes for you! Serrowind clothes, no less!"

The girls were delighted and were soon happily squabbling over which one they wanted. Gold Diamond gave Tin Turquoise the earrings and helped her put them in her already pierced ears. When he was finished, she gave him a big hug and kissed him on the cheek. When she went off admiring herself in a piece of broken mirror by the fire drum, Aluminium Topaz silent presented Gold Diamond with a fur cuirass, fur-lined breaches and matching fur boots. He supposed he was being given this to replace the much disliked old Akhohr uniform. So, after pulling the new clothes on (everyone was surprisingly unbothered by the sight of the others' naked flesh), he threw his old things on the fire.

* * *

So, the years went on. Slowly, Gold Diamond's early doubts about committing crimes faded. They were now a normal part of life. He stayed away from Serrowind's village, though, if he could help it. It the girl had a particularly long memory, she would recognise him in an instant; she had had a very close look. After a few hundred years, one would not have recognised him as Verimir, the Akhohr deserter. His golden hair had been cut shorter (by accident after a run in with a gang of orcs on their terrority) and a little bit of golden stubble was manifesting itself on his chin.

When he first realised it, he didn't know what is was and had rushed to Tin Turquoise (with whom he had grown very close to after the first Beryl and Emerald) to ask for help. When she saw what he was worried about, she'd burst out laughing, "Have you got any human blood in you?"

"I don't know." Gold Diamond shrugged, not know what this had to do with it, "Is it some kind of human disease?"

"Not a disease, no. It's something a lot of human men get though. It's perfectly natural, nothing to worry about. You can shave it off fine if you want but it always grows back."

"No point, then." Gold Diamond shrugged, checking his reflection in the mirror piece. By the end of the year, he had grown a thick, golden beard, curling like a thorn bush. Tin Turquoise loved pulling on it for fun and he'd learned to take her tugs with good humour. By then, he had gained a place among the Steel Jasper gang and no longer encountered guarded animosity.

Then, after three hundred years of relaxed peace, disaster struck. A particularly harsh and cold winter battered their shack. The thin wood was hardly substantial to keep out the biting cold. The fur clothes were just not enough. Titanium Onyx and Bronze Kunsite, being part Fire-elves, came down with dangerous illnesses. The cabin was filled with their coughs and many of the others were weakened. Only the Drows (being at an afinity with the cold) and strangely Gold Diamond seemed unaffected. He supposed it was all those cold nights spent on watch for the Akhohr that had hardened him.

As a result, it was up to him to go and steal some herbs to try and help them. Drows were social outsiders of Valivial and they needed to stay and tend to the worst affected. So, Gold Diamond trudged through the thick snow and merciless blizzard towards the next village. But so great was the wind and snow lashing his face that his enhanced sense of direction was beaten. He only had the chimes of the hated slave mine to guide him and he just prayed that he wouldn't fall into it.

Ever since this thought came to him, he had taken more care where he stood and didn't pay much attention to where he was going. He trusted his instincts to guide him to the right place. He hugged himself desperately to try and shut out the cold, _This is for my companions, for their good. I must not get lost. I mustn't!_

His heart lifted as he saw a familiar white-bark tree. _A left at this and straight on should bring me to the village. At last, a clue._ He trekked through the snow and his heart leapt when he saw the shadow of a town. He sped up towards it and smiled a teeth-chattering smile. There it was, the cluster of buildings and right before him, a herb garden sheltered by a thin sheet of down. It was so easy to pick up a corner, reach in and grab what he needed.

His bare fingers shaking, he reached in and tugged at the perfect herb, _This family is certainly well off to have such expensive seedlings here. Oh, they will be so pleased when they see these!_ Pushing the leaves into his pocket, he failed to notice the down-sheet being thrown off. He only realised too late when he took hold of another leaf...and felt a hand on his.

He looked up at the stranger at the same time they did. Though her hood was pulled up, her brown hair was all too familiar. He spent about two seconds staring at Gailia Serrowind in horror and she stared right back at him. It took those two seconds to realise that he had taken a wrong turn and came straight to the place he had tried to avoid for centuries.

Coming to his senses, he leapt to his feet and pelted in the vague direction of the forest. He had just reached the trees when he faintly heard her scream on the wind. Cursing himself for his mistake, he ran blindly through the thick snow sheets that fell from the sky. On, on, on; trees just a blur as he passed them. He had just enough for today and hopefully, tomorrow would be clearer. But would he be allowed out after his folly? With his beard, he would be easy to spot and identify. He could cut it off, of course, but would that be enough to ensure his security?

Panic added to his confusion in direction. He thought he was heading for the shack but he saw no landmarks. The chimes of the slave mine were nowhere to be heard. They were always heard even over gails so why not now? He stopped, panting, his breath misting the air, _Calm down. _He told himself. His heart was racing, his lungs feeling as though they'd burst,_ You're far enough away for sure._ He glanced about. The visibility was improving now. But he still recognised nothing. His heart sank. Had he gone the wrong way again?

It was that moment that the howling wind became his enemy. It masked the intruders' footsteps until it was too late. The soldiers could creep up on Gold Diamond without being detected. Just as he thought of running again, he was grabbed from behind and his vision became black from a hard hit to the head.

A/N: Oooh, a cliffhanger!

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	10. Steel Jasper

A/N: OMG, that took way too long! I don't know what took me. I blame Oblivion and revision. Plus the run-up to Christmas. At least I got this done before Christmas so this'll be a present to my reader(s).

**evildictionaryninja: **Yep, this is the last chapter.

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_**Calasier Avamela Prologue**_

_**Lindilwen - Steel Jasper**_

The ride to the town was made rougher by the many potholes in the road from what was supposedly a recent scuffle there. Lindilwen was glad to get out and lose her carriage legs. She was also grateful for the footman helping her down. The houses were mostly white-washed wood with a few scattered civilians going about their business, _I wonder what they're all doing. They all look so happy._ She smiled happily as she saw two children playing Cockle-Arle. She used to love playing that game,

"_This way, Princess_." She allowed herself to be led to the tallest of the buildings. A silk banner rippled from a pole above the door in the warm breeze, displaying the town's emblem, _What a beautiful place. _Something still bothered her about the place, though. It seemed to be an ominous beauty, like she had overlooked some terrible thing that blackened it. The ring of some blacksmith sounded faintly. It was an incessant, almost annoying sound, _He must be very busy or there are more thanone at work,_

"_Are those blacksmiths?_" She asked her footman, "_They sound very busy._"

"_Oh, they always are._" shrugged the footman, careless. To her annoyance, he didn't elaborate on the subject so Lindilwen was left to imagine possibilities on her own. Perhaps the village was often attacked, evidenced by the damaged roads, and they had to keep making and remaking weapons. But everything looked too clean, too worn to be set up recently and, if they were attacked so often, they would bare signs of houses being destroyed.

It was such a mystery that she was preoccupied all the time they went through the hall. It was only when the well-dressed Lord of the village addressed her did she come to her senses, "_You are most welcome here, Princess. Your presence here is welcome but the timing could not be worse, I am afraid. We are putting a prisoner on trial at the moment. He has been in the cells for ten years and he still has not even given us his name._"

Lindilwen's interest was sparked, "_Let me oversee this trial._" She said, immediately, making the Lord blink in surprise, "_I'm interested._"

Reluctantly, the Lord led her through the doors, down staircases and into a small courtroom. This looked like the most recently made room of all the places in the village. The fresh wood smell and the sharp edges on the carvings told her this. There was the distant voice of what sounded like a judge, deep and commanding. She was asking the defendant to give an account of himself.

The Lord opened the door and called in a commanding voice, "_The Princess of Valivial, who willingly wishes to observe the proceedings._" He stood aside to let her pass. Lindilwen felt like rolling her eyes; she hated the formal announcements that preceeded her whenever she went anywhere. Just once, she liked to walk in on her own, unannounced, and no one minded who she was.

There was a loud united scuffle as everyone there rose to their feet in respect (though she failed to see how that was respectful). She smiled to the lady at the head of the far end of the room who she supposed was the judge, who in turn inclined her head. Lindilwen took a seat in a box close to the judge with her two guards flanking her. When she was seated, the hall sat back down. It was only then did she see the defendant.

He had been half concealed by the people seated in the middle and, since the dock was set higher, she got a good look at him. He looked old; much, much older than her. The eyes were more deep-set. Still, they glimmered aquamarine with boyish defiance. His hair was short and curly like a thornbush and his golden skin colour told of a distant Drow ancestor.

The most striking thing about him was his golden, bushy beard, exactly like his hair. A golden thicket of curls starting at his chin and finishing at his heart. She had heard of humans having beards and had seen them in pictures but she had never seen them on elves. He definately was an elf, his pointed ears were obvious even through the hair. She felt her two guards move in surprise at his appearance, _They never went to the human world; they've never seen a beard before,_

"_I ask you again to reveal your name._" The judge turned a steely eye on him. The defendant turned his gaze from the judge and his and Lindilwen's eyes met for a brief moment. She knew her High Elf appearance would be startling to any who were not accustomed to it but she hadn't expected that sort of fear to enter him. Immediately, he looked back at the judge, as though worried that she was a Rolcan Mage that could hypnotise on eye-contact. Of course, she wasn't, but this fear made her more curious about him,

"_They call me Steel Jasper._" said the defendant, "_As I have told you before._"

_A false name._ Lindilwen knew it at once. She allowed the rest of the speech to be tuned out and she gazed intently at Steel Jasper. Why had he been so afraid of her? She was the princess but, if he was a criminal, he would not regard any sort of authority like that. And he looked too old to inexperienced. Then, it hit her, _What if he used to be part of a noble family and doesn't want to be recognised?_

Lindilwen stood suddenly at her revelation. The hall hastily stood up, mirroring her, "_I want to view the defendant closely._" She said, knowing no one would challenge her. Flanked by her guards, she crossed the hall and came to a stop before the dock. Steel Jasper was a little taller than her so she had to incline a little. He stared intently at her left shoulder, not meeting her eye.

She stared straight at him. The golden skin, the golden hair, the aquamarine eyes, the rough hands, human heritage...she thought of all the nobles she could and who matched that description. Unfortunately, nothing came to her. All the nobles were pure elf as far as she knew, _What if they adopted a part human? I've heard of people doing that._

She thought long and hard while staring at him. A flush was creeping into Steel Jasper's face at her stare but she care nothing for manners at this point. She realed off names in her head, checking them in her mind. Name after name was disproved until...it came to her. It was so obvious that she could not believe she had not thought of it before.

The grin that spread on Lindilwen's face made 'Steel Jasper' even more worried, "_I wish to speak to the defendant alone. Alone, I said, Florial!_" She added, as one of her guards made a move to follow. No one else challenged her as she followed 'Steel Jasper' into a side room. As soon as she closed the door, he faced her,

"_Do you think you know who I am?_"

"_I __**know**__ who you are._" Lindilwen nodded, "_But, I will not tell anyone if you do not want me to,_" She added with a smile, "_Verimir Moorefield._"

Verimir went a shade paler. He clutched the back of a chair in the centre of the room, "_How do I know you will not tell the court?_"

"_I'll give you my word. But,_" She added, "_I think there is something else you are worried about._"

"_You have good intuition, my Lady._" He sat down, "_It is this. I have been away from my fellows for ten years now. I am part of a gang known as Steel Jasper and I am worried about them. I have heard nothing from them and, when I left them, some were stricken with illness. I was caught stealing the herbs needed to cure them._"

"_Oh._" Was all Lindilwen could say,

"_I have been afraid to tell the guards in case they will come after them and I would have betrayed them._"

Lindilwen thought for a while about his dilemma. Then, a scheme formed in her mind, "_I have an idea._" She smiled widely at him, "_Kidnap me._"

"_What?!_" spluttered Verimir, taking a step back, "_I-I cannot do that, my Lady! That would be treason!_"

"_No one knows your identity here._" She reminded him, "_If you were to, say, kidnap me, leave me outside the town, flee and start a new life as the respectable Verimir Moorefield, no one would ever make the connection; you can always go back to check on the Steel Jasper gang if you wanted._"

Verimir looked as though he was thinking hard over this posibility. Then, he looked at her and gave a small nod. Just then, a knock on the door made Lindilwen start. Florial's voice drifted through, "_My Lady, is everything alright in there?_" The two exchanged a glance and a little mimed debate. Then, Verimir hoisted her on his shoulder and Lindilwen waited until they were through two rooms before shouting,

"_HELP! HELP, HE HAS STOLEN ME!_"

The building was ablaze with uproar. They were thankful to burst out of the back door without coming across the guards. Taking the lead, Verimir grabbed her hand and pulled her across the courtyard and into the dense trees, "_You might want to stop shouting now, my Lady._" Verimir added, quietly, as the hall faded from view, "_Your voice could awake people in Lindaria._"

"_Oh, sorry._" She whispered. She still shouted a little but cut off her speech suddenly as though a gag had been placed over her mouth. On, on and on they ran. The guards came only as fading, incoherant calling. She was astonished that Verimir was outrun by them when he was caught, such speed he showed. Or was that her subconsciously planting power into him as she had heard tell High Elves could do?

The dense trees thinned a little and Verimir halted to catch his breath. Lindilwen flopped down on the grass too, her feet aching and feeling like her shoes were worn through. Why on earth did she wear thin court shoes today? Seeing her weariness, Verimir crouched down with his back to her, "_I can carry you if you can go no further._"

Lindilwen blinked and smiled at this gentlemanly gesture. Her guard never offered to do this when she was tired. Climbing on his back, she managed to get her tiara tangled in hair. After a bit of fiddly work, the lock of hair came free and Verimir could move forward. Despite her added weight, he moved just as fast through the thinning trees and into a large plain.

They slowed down to a walk and Lindilwen became aware of another noise. The same clanging that she had heard from the town. Except now it was much, much louder. Other sounds also intermingled with the din: snaps, cries and strain of ropes. No blacksmiths made those sounds, "_Verimir?_"

"_Yes, my Lady?_"

"_What is that sound?_"

There was a silence, "_So, you know not of it, my Lady?_"

"_No._" Lindilwen shook her head, though a bad feeling grew in the pit of her stomach,

Verimir seemed to relax, as though he had been worried, "_That is good. I would not think someone with your soul would allow such a thing to happen._"

They approached what looked like a crack in the earth. The sounds were growing louder. She was actually beginning to pick out words now. '_Faster' _and cries of pain. The snaps became more and more ominous. Like cracks of a whip. Verimir let her down and she looked into the crack.

She thrust both her hands over her mouth to stop herself screaming. She had never seen anything so awful in all her life. Lines upon lines of half-naked elves, chained together, whipped by soldiers she knew...Her vision swayed and she was crying before she knew it,

"_My Lady?_" Verimir's voice came from somewhere above her. She realised that she must have fallen to her knees when she first saw it. Glad to look away from the sight, she turned back to him,

"_U-Uteire and Athara never told me about this!_" The words stumbled over themselves as she forced them out, "_T-this isn't right!_"

"_The Steel Jasper gang tries to interfere with this but we cannot do much without hurting the slaves._" He sighed, his face grieved, "_It is the shame of Valivial that there are such places here._"

"_Not when I'm Queen!_" Lindilwen said firmly, saying it with all the conviction she had. Verimir smiled,

"_That is good to hear. Now, let us leave this terrible place._"

She climbed onto his back again and away they went. Trees again and across the path she had gone through in her carriage a few times. _Why did I not hear this before? _She wondered why on earth the Lord had kept it from her_, Surely, he knew about this! And nothing happens without Uteire and Athara's permission. They must know about this too! How could they let this happen?_

"_Here is the place._" Verimir did not let her down and she soon saw why. A great mass of nettles surrounded the place, growing as tightly together as thorns. Ahead was a decaying slumshack. Verimir sighed, "_No guards here. Something must be wrong._" He cleared his throat and spoke in clear English, "I have come! Gold Diamond has escaped!" There was a pause. The door opened a crack and a burn-scarred face appeared, "Bronze Kunsite_._" The elf peered at Lindilwen,

"Who is this? Why do you say our names in front of her?

"Fear not. She will not betray us. _It's best if they don't know who you are._" He whispered to her, "_No one here knows each other's real names._"

She was let down before they came in and what a sight met her eyes. A little more than a dozen elves (a few Drows included) were seated around a metal drum where a meagre fire was lit, _How can there be poverty like this in the wondrous elven realm?_ They stood at the sight of Verimir and Lindilwen. One of them, clearly recognising her, gasped and dropped to his knees,

"Princess!" He said, before she could stop him. There was a collective shock among the group. The Drows skittered to a corner and the drum was knocked over as the others shot up. Verimir seemed distracted though. She could hear him counting under his breath. Before she could ask, he asked, "Tell me, where is Tin Turquoise?"

The shock turned to an uncomfortable silence. Everyone avoided each other's gaze and no one seemed to want to talk. Lindilwen realised this might be something private so she backed out. No one seemed to notice. She backed out and very nearly ran straight into the nettles. She stopped herself just in time and looked around, _I hope it doesn't take too long._

She had a look around. The place was falling apart, looking very miserable indeed, _What was it in its prime? A farm? A cabin of a Lord? I have heard of those who buy small houses for an escape._ She began to walk around the place, wondering how many laps she could do around it before Verimir came out. But, she had not gone two steps when she spotted something. A small stone, set into the ground with some writing and a small box upon it. She crouched down...and her eyes widened at the inscription:

_Tin Turquiose_

"V-Gold Diamond!" She called, over her shoulder. Verimir raced out,

"_Yes, my Lady?_"

"_Look._" He pointed to the stone. Verimir saw the inscription and flopped to his knees,

"_No..._" He gasped, "..._no...it cannot be... she cannot be dead..._"

"_She died looking for you._" A harsh voice came from behind and the single Water Elf appeared, "_She went out a couple of days after you got caught. Ran into wolves. She never stood a chance. Remarkable that there was enough left of her to bury._"

Lindilwen thought this a little cruel but the sound of an unsheathing knife drew her attention away. Verimir had drawn a dagger and beginning to cut off his beard, "_Don't do that!_" gasped Lindilwen,

"_She loved my beard._" He choked, now half-finished, "_She said it suited me._" The thick golden locks fell to the ground, "_I did not even get a chance to ask her true name!_" With a wail, he slumped before the grave, sobbing. Lindilwen crouched and laid a sympathetic hand on his back. She had been very precious to him, she could tell. The Water Elf sneered, then picked up the box and threw it unceremoniously at Verimir,

"_Take it. You gave it to her after all._"

With that, he entered the shack again. One of the turquoise earrings spilled from the box.

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A/N: Merry Christmas, everyone! See you all next story. Next time: Hari and Draco go to Hogwarts...with some unexpected companions.


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